


sometimes life (it takes you by the hair)

by FreshBrains



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Background Case, Bechdel Test Pass, F/F, Female Friendship, Happy Ending, Lust at First Sight, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Thor (2011), Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What the hell is a…” Natasha flipped through the file.  “Political science major going to do for us?”</p><p>Hill shrugged.  “PR work?  I don’t know.  She was seen at the New Mexico site, so we need her off the streets.  Just get the women and get back here.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	sometimes life (it takes you by the hair)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seratonation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seratonation/gifts).



> This is one of the longest fics I've written in a while, and I hope you all (and my giftee) enjoy! 
> 
> Just a very general, hand-wavey timeline for this fic (ages notwithstanding, those aren't canon): After Thor came to earth, Jane and her team fled, never to be caught by SHIELD. But before the events of _The Dark World_ , Fury finds out they were present in New Mexico and could be useful, so he sends Natasha out to get them. No HYDRA in this fic.

“We’re sending you out undercover,” Fury said, avoiding Natasha’s gaze as he handed off files to Hill.  He was on his way out and using his _I don’t have time for this_ voice, the one Natasha always associated with a bottom-of-the-pile mission.

“Where this time?”  Natasha hoped it would be a rough one—she was up for a challenge.

Fury nodded towards Hill as he strode out the door.  “Talk to your former grad school advisor, Dr. Hill.  She’s giving you a glowing recommendation towards an open position teaching undergrad history at Culver.”

Hill flashed her an evil grin.  “Dr. Rushman, I expect you know a bit about the Soviet Union?”

Natasha sighed, taking the files.  “Well played.  At least it’ll be easy to fake it.  Who am I going for at Culver?”  She flipped to the first page with a map of the university wings.  “Oh god, they’re _undergrads._ ”

“Only one undergrad. The other is doing doctoral research.  We think they might be able to get us into contact with whatever caused the incident in New Mexico.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows— _that_ was new.  And possibly enjoyable, especially since she didn’t have to get her hands too dirty for a mission like that.  “Two co-eds?  Are you serious?  Did they stumble into something?”

“We’re not sure yet, but they were definitely seen in New Mexico during the time of contact,” Hill said, opening a folder to reveal a picture and info sheet on a bright-eyed, mousy-looking woman.  _Jane Foster_.  “This one’s practically a science prodigy, she’s been toying around with all sorts of theories about wormholes and this and that.”  She waved off the subject neatly—she and Natasha shot the guns and called the shots, they didn’t study wormholes.  “She seems like a safe bet—get her into SHIELD, get her everything she needs.  Could be an asset.”

Natasha took the folder beneath Foster’s and opened it up in the crook of her arm.  “And the other one?”

Hill sighed.  “The other one is different.  Also a genius, insanely smart.  But she’s…”

“Trouble?” Natasha supplied, raising an eyebrow as she scanned a few distant snapshots of a curvy brunette with the widest, slyest smile she’d ever seen. 

“Oh yeah.  Lewis is Foster’s previous intern and closest friend.  I’d say get Lewis first, then go for Foster.  Lewis is the harder sell.”

“But what the hell is a…” Natasha flipped through the file.  “Political science major going to do for us?”

Hill shrugged.  “PR work?  I don’t know.  She was seen at the New Mexico site, so we need her off the streets.  Just get the women and get back here.”

 

“I don’t know a thing about being a professor,” Natasha said, mouth set in a grim line as she examined the half-dozen textbooks and manuals on professorships and PH.D’s she chose for research.  “Hill would’ve been better at this.”

Pepper smiled, leaning against the doorway with a glass of wine.  “Hill has her hands full with Coulson’s team, but you’ve been lying low for a few months.  Not that we mind, of course.”

“Of course,” Natasha said drily, scrunching her nose at the selection of clothing on Pepper’s bed.  The room was a mess—Natasha had been there since the night before, going over her notes and files with Pepper before starting at Culver the following Monday.  They’d been spending more time together, and it would be weird being away from her for the mission.  “Do you have anything in black?”

Pepper sighed, suppressing a laugh.  “Come on, what’s wrong with that?  Or what I’m wearing?”  Pepper looked perfect and professional as usual in a neat dove-gray skirt and jacket and a peach silk blouse, the picture of elegance.

Natasha smiled, shrugging a little.  “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing.  But if _I_ tried to pull it off, I’d give myself away.  I’m not used to being the academic.”

Pepper snorted and sat on the edge of her bed, looking over the clothes.  “This isn’t about shoes and shirts, is it?”

Natasha grabbed her file folder, blowing a stray strand of red hair out of her face.  “I’ve done a lot of stuff, Pepper, you’ve seen my files.  I’ve been all over the place.  So tell me, why the hell am I putting so much thought into masquerading as some history teacher to a bunch of spoiled rich kids who will all probably be asleep or hung-over either way?”

“Because you won’t be lurking behind the scenes,” Pepper said, handing Natasha her glass of wine.  “You’re going to be front and center, and spies usually avoid that sort of thing if I recall correctly.”

Natasha snorted a laugh.  “Sounds about right.  It’s like I’m auditioning for a play.”

“Okay,” Pepper said flipping through Natasha’s notebook.  “Natalie Rushman, you’re a Columbia graduate with a degree in Russian Studies.  This is your first permanent professorial position but you were adjunct at a college down south for three years.”

“Vague,” Natasha muttered.  “I’ll work on that.  And I can’t believe they’re using my Stark assistant name.”

“It was my idea,” Pepper said, smiling slyly.

Natasha raised an eyebrow.  “So you’ve been in on this from the start?”

Pepper sighed, shuffling the papers back in order.  “We just worry about you.  You get restless, you like being in action.  And after New York, things have been…”

“Quiet,” Natasha said.  Sure, she dealt with criminals and thieves, killers and monsters, critters and creatures and political enemies.  But it was all the same—and Pepper was right, she _was_ getting restless.  “You think I’m going to run off.”

“No,” Pepper said, shaking her head.  “I trust you.  We all do.  But I also don’t want you to feel like a caged animal.”

Natasha nodded, feeling an odd tug of tenderness towards her friend.  “Thank you.  I appreciate that.”  She cleared her throat.  “Now let’s see what else I’m dealing with here.”

 

Natasha had never gone to college, of course—they didn’t exactly have spy college, despite many young adult novels on the subject Natasha absolutely never read, ever.  But the students were pretty much as she expected—tired, apathetic, and lethargic yet intellectual, open-minded, and not so easy to impress.  They all knew the drill—syllabus online, textbook in the campus bookstore.  Natasha didn’t have to advise them much, just as Hill assured her.

Still, she was unsettled all through her first lesson—something about the Battle of the Kalka River, maybe?  She knew it by rote; every kid in the Red Room knew their history.  But she sure as hell never taught it in a hot lecture hall in front of seventy bored faces.

There was one bored face Natasha looked for in the tiered hall, and she found it right away in the middle of the rows.  Long, wavy brown hair half-tucked into a magenta beanie, blue and green plaid flannel shirt, yellow tee shirt.  She yawned along with the rest of the class but she had a cocky, effortless look to her, like she knew she’d pull an A no matter how much she dozed off in class.

Darcy Lewis looked like an average college girl with a high self-esteem, a healthy sex life, and a good GPA despite a poor class attendance record.  She certainly didn’t look like a girl who went traipsing around with some mad scientist in New Mexico, falling into trouble with Norse deities. 

But then again, Natasha was apparently a college professor.

***

“ _Darcy_!  Get your ass out of bed, your first class starts in fifteen minutes.”  Despite being roughly the size of a hamster, Jane had one hell of a pillow-throwing arm, and she always managed to hit Darcy hard enough to jostle her awake from the bestdreams.

“Okay, _mom_ ,” Darcy groaned, slapping around on her nightstand for her glasses.  “Christ, why are you so merry?”

“I’m not merry, I’m _awake_ ,” Jane yelled from the kitchen.  Darcy smelled fresh coffee being brewed dragged herself into their narrow hallway.  “I teach in an hour, so I got up early to go over my notes.”

“Look at you,” Darcy said with a yawn, plopping down in her boxers and tank top on a kitchen chair.  “You mad scientist you.  My little baby, all grown up and doing big-girl research.”

“They’re paying me!  To do _research_!” Jane was practically glowing, and Darcy couldn’t help but smile.  She was intensely proud of her best friend, though it made her a little sad that Jane would be around the apartment less—they lived together, but they didn’t share the same college experience anymore.  Darcy was only a semester away from her degree, and then she was out in the real world, and that scared her even more.

“I’m glad Selvig is letting you TA, too,” Darcy said, practically purring when Jane set a cup of hot coffee down next to her.  “I think you keep him grounded after…you know.”

Jane nodded and didn’t say anything, their usual reaction to What Happened in Mexico.  “It was a weird year.  I’m glad things are back to normal, though.”

“No lie,” Darcy agreed.  “I kept wondering when Mulder and Scully would be knocking on our door.”

“Now _that_ would be awesome,” Jane said, pouring fresh coffee in her to-go mug.  “Now get to class on time, troublemaker.  Start strong.”

“Yes ma’am,” Darcy intoned, checking the time on her cell.  “Russian studies, here I come.”

 

Despite Jane being an A-plus friend and dragging her out of bed at a decent hour, Darcy was still almost late to her first class.  She was used to the labs and small group classrooms rather than lecture halls, and she got lost— _really, Lewis, still getting lost fall semester of your senior year?_ Luckily, she stumbled in just before the professor arrived.

 _Rewind.  Who the hell is_ that _?_

“Darcy,” Ian hissed from the middle of the seating tier, waving her up.  The hall wasn’t very full—apparently Russian studies, the very last available World Studies credit Darcy could fit into her schedule, wasn’t a hot-ticket class.

“Good morning to you, lowly sophomore,” Darcy greeted Ian, slinging her backpack onto the floor by her feet.  “You save me a spot, cutie?”

Ian blushed, his normal reaction to Darcy’s flirting.  “Maybe.  I knew you were coming.”

“So tell me,” Darcy whispered, unpacking her laptop and notebook.  “Is that seriously our professor?”

“Appears so,” Ian said, exhaling slowly.  “Suddenly this class got a lot more interesting.”

“I’ll say,” Darcy said, mesmerized by red hair and a tight black pencil skirt, dark heels and perfect legs.  The woman moved slowly behind the lecture podium, removing her notes from her briefcase before adjusting the microphone. 

“Good morning, everyone,” she said crisply, and Darcy longed to hear that voice first thing in the morning, still husky from sleep.  “I’m Dr. Natalie Rushman and I’ll be teaching this fall semester’s Russian Studies course.”  She went into the course basics and syllabus notes, but Darcy tuned her out, just _looking._

 _God, she’s hot_ , she thought, sighing deeply.  _This is going to be fun._

 

“Dare me?”  Darcy leaned over and nudged Ian in the arm.  Two weeks into class and she still could not keep her eyes off their professor.

Ian startled, tongue poking out of his mouth as he scribbled lecture notes in her notebook.  “Dare you to _what_?”

Darcy nodded towards the front of the classroom and leaned back in her chair, admiring the view.  “The good _vrach_?”

Ian looked up from her notes and her eyebrows rose.  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said under her breath, eyes wide with both awe and worry, his usual reactions to any of Darcy’s schemes.  “Did you learn Russian just to say that?”

“I could _so_ pull it off.  You _know_ I could,” Darcy giggled, leaning in towards Ian again and ignoring his question.  “Remember that chem TA from last semester, the one who got stuck with the gen eds?  God, the things he did to me in that broom closet…”

“Miss Lewis,” a cool voice said from the front of the room, absent of anger or sharpness like many other professors had when speaking to Darcy.  “Is everything alright back there?”  Dr. Rushman didn’t look up from her lecture notes.

“Just peachy, Dr. R,” Darcy said sweetly, and sat up straighter in her seat so her breasts strained her low-cut tee shirt even further. 

Dr. Rushman still didn’t look her way, but she smiled slightly as she addressed the class.  “Then I suppose you could tell me all about the dissolution of the Soviet Union.”

As Darcy turned bright red, Ian snickered next to her.  So much for an easy credit.  Darcy mumbled a response and then laid her head down on her desk, drifting off.  Her first two weeks had been pretty run-of-the-mill—studying in the library in the afternoon, something cheap for dinner downtown with Jane, little sleep and lots of coffee.  She knew the drill at that point.

Admittedly, the only thing keeping her truly interested in Culver was the fact that Jane was still there and Dr. Rushman was her professor.

Everyone talked about Dr. Rushman.  Nobody knew where she came from, nobody knew her first name, nobody knew where she lived, if she was married, if she had kids.  She just came to class every day in tailored skirts or pants, neat blouses that hugged her curves.  Her shoes were always the same glossy black stilettos with the red bottoms, and her perfect red hair was short and gently curled, like she woke up in a meadow with little birds and squirrels helping her groom.

Darcy spent the majority of her time in Russian Studies looking Dr. Rushman up and down, watching her every move like an incurably horny hawk.  She started noticing the little things—the crisp way Dr. Rushman enunciated her words like English wasn’t her first language, the tiny mole on her clavicle, and best of all, the way she wore a colored bra under her blouse and camisole.  It was hardly noticeable; Darcy guessed that the dim-witted frat boys hadn’t even picked up on it under the fluorescent lights.  But it was there—red or dark green or sapphire blue, hot pink or orange or sunny yellow.  Just the gentle peek of lace or the stripes of color they made against the back of her blouse.

God, the places Darcy wanted to see those bras—on the linoleum floor of the classroom, on the ratty couch in the Phi Beta house (where Darcy made out with two girls and one guy all on the same night), on the gross tile in the girls’ dorm bathroom as Darcy got on her knees to mouth at the probably-matching lace of Dr. Rushman’s panties…

“Is there something I can assist you with, Darcy?”  Darcy jerked awake and wiped at her chin, which was thankfully dry—deep class-nap dreams usually left her drooling (especially the sexy ones).  She looked around the empty lecture hall and realized she was alone with the professor.

Dr. Rushman sat at her pristine, neat desk, one leg crossed over the other, tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses moved to the tip of her nose as she read through her notes.  Again, she wasn’t looking at Darcy—it was like she had a crazy-accurate sensor for dirty student Hot for Teacher fantasies.

Darcy leaned back in her desk chair, denim-clad legs spread apart under her desk, sneakers planted on the floor.  Darcy knew she was no sexpot, but she worked with what she had—and she had great boobs, awesome lips, and flawless skin.  Her toolbox was full enough to reel in hot history professors of unknown sexuality, she was sure of that.

“Nope, I’m fine, Dr. Rushman.  Just resting before my eleven o’clock class.”  She stretched her arms and tossed her hair over her shoulder, daring Dr. Rushman to look up at her.

“That would be just fine if it wasn’t eleven-thirty.”  Dr. Rushman checked something off in her notebook.

 _Damn it_ , Darcy thought.  _How am I even passing at this place?_ “So you just let me sleep in here?”

Dr. Rushman nodded.  “You work hard, Darcy, and your grades are impeccable.  I looked up your test scores and class records.”  She removed her glasses and finally looked at Darcy, her eyes cool and searching, revealing nothing.  “You have a near-genius IQ and your work with the political science program and speech team could get you into any grad school you’d like.”

“Sounds about right,” Darcy said, looking right into her professor’s eyes, asking for something, _anything_.  But damn, there was nothing to find—Dr. Rushman was a stone cold ice queen.  Darcy had to admire it—after all, her biggest downfall was her shameless transparency.

“So,” Dr. Rushman said, standing up.  Her skirt settled around her thighs and smoothed over her hips; she was thin but muscular.  Darcy could work with that.  “Where are you planning to go?”

Darcy shrugged.  “I was planning on taking a year off.  My friend Jane is going to be here for a while doing her research, and it’s not like Culver will want to keep a political science major around.”  She tried to be nonchalant, but her impending separation from Jane after being an intern for two years was still a sore subject.

Dr. Rushman sat in the row below Darcy, the plastic desks of the tiered lecture hall looking much too informal for her pristine clothes and long legs.  When she crossed one gazelle leg over the other, the dark seam of her black stockings peeked from beneath her skirt, and Darcy swallowed heavily.  “But you’re brilliant.  It doesn’t matter what you choose to do, they’ll want you.”

Darcy took a deep breath and caught a whiff of Dr. Rushman’s perfume—clean, crisp, foreign.  God, that woman was _impossible_ to pin down.  “But what am I supposed to _do_ there?  Sure, I could probably study anything I wanted.  But I’m not Jane.  I’m not…”

Dr. Rushman raised an eyebrow.  “Interested?”

 _Oh, I’m definitely interested in something_.  Darcy let out a long sigh, sinking into her chair.  “Motivated.”

Dr. Rushman pursed her lips.  “What could possibly motivate you, then?”

Darcy looked up, biting her bottom lip (more out of nerves than arousal, if she was being fair with herself).  “It seems like you’re trying hard to motivate me, Dr. Rushman.”

 For half a second, Darcy almost thought Dr. Rushman was going to go for it—she leaned in, hair framing her face, eyes intent on Darcy’s.  Darcy’s heart skipped in her chest—there was something almost _feral_ about the professor, calculated to the point of deadliness, and Darcy felt her lips part as Dr. Rushman’s face was inches from her own. 

“Miss Lewis,” Dr. Rushman said, voice calm, “let’s go for a walk.”  She stood, breaking the spell, and Darcy followed in a haze of unrecognizable perfume.

***

“So where were you before this?  Culver, I mean.”  Darcy sat down on a park bench and blew the steam coming off her latte.  Her lips were plush and glossed lightly pink, and she looked like the quintessential girl next door with her hands wrapped around her cup. 

Natasha snapped back to attention and crossed her legs.  “Down south.  Adjunct.”  She was still reeling a little after Darcy’s blatant attempt at seducing her.  _That_ wasn’t a variable she first considered, though it was always a possibility.

“Where down south?” Darcy didn’t miss a beat, her bright eyes trained brilliantly on Natasha’s face.

Natasha held her stare.  “Small private college.  You probably haven’t heard of it.” _Damn it, I told Pepper we needed to work on that_.  “So, Darcy.  Where were _you_ before Culver?”

“Uh, high school?  I’m only an undergrad,” she said, sipping her coffee.

 _Good lord, she’s only a baby.  What the hell is SHIELD supposed to do with her?_ Natasha hid her grimace with the edge of her espresso cup.  After a small sip, she decided to amp up her game.  “If you could do anything you wanted after college, what would you do?”

Darcy raised an eyebrow, giving Natasha a skeptical look, and Natasha realized she’d been underestimating Darcy.  “Are you trying to recruit me into a spy ring or something?”

Natasha smiled.  “Of course not.  I’m just trying to help you out.  It’s my job, you know.”  Her heart beat a little faster, but she was used to it—it was her job, after all.  She was in complete control of her natural physical responses.

Darcy smiled and sighed, reclining back on the bench.  “I’d like to travel a little.  Maybe Europe, maybe just around the US, seeing the sights.  I’m not sure I want to stay in New England the rest of my life.” 

 _Or New Mexico_ , Natasha thought.  “That’s a safe bet for after college.  Maybe you could get a job that involves a lot of travel.”

“Maybe,” Darcy said noncommittally.  “I’d make a good flight attendant, probably.  I could rock the whole airline sex kitten thing.”  She grinned at Natasha, totally shameless.

Natasha could tell Darcy was attracted to her and she had to give her props for the flirting—she wasn’t subtle about it.  Darcy was a gorgeous girl, all soft curves and kind eyes and a big smile.  If they met on the street and Darcy goaded Natasha into a cup of coffee or a game of pool, Natasha would have no problem taking the girl to bed.  But this was a _job_ , one that was supposed to keep her grounded.  One that would prevent her from running.  “You could always work for the government.  A private agency, or in sales.  You have a lot of options, Darcy.  Don’t limit yourself.”

Darcy nodded.  Before Natasha could even keep up with Darcy’s spinning wheels, Darcy asked, “Were you born in Russia?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Your accent,” Darcy said.  “It’s faint, but I can tell.”

 _Nobody has picked out the Russian in years,_ Natasha thought.  _How the hell did this girl hear it?_ “My parents are European.”  It was a vague answer, and Darcy raised her eyebrows, obviously not settling.

“You’re a strange one, Dr. Rushman,” Darcy said, tilting her head a little as she smiled.  She had a tiny gap between her front teeth, oddly endearing.  “You know, we all wonder about you.  The students, I mean.  You kind of just dropped here out of nowhere.

Alarm bells started going off in Natasha’s head—not for danger, or a mission compromised, but for the sheer fact that they all gravely underestimated Darcy Lewis.  She flicked out her wrist, her shirt cuff rising so she could check her watch.  “I’m afraid I have a class in fifteen minutes.  I’m glad we could talk, though.”  She raised an eyebrow at Darcy; she had a hard time taking her eyes off the girl, wanting to watch her every movement.  But that was hard when Darcy did the same to her.  “Don’t be a stranger.”

Darcy nodded, giving her a little half-wave.  “ _Do svidaniya_.”  Her pronunciation was impeccable.

When Darcy had crossed the street and was safely off campus, Natasha retrieved her S.H.I.E.L.D. issued cell from her briefcase.  The mission was deemed safe enough to get rid of earpieces and any tech more advanced than Natasha’s service pistol that she rarely used.  She sent a text to Maria’s contact.

_Regroup needed.  Lewis is smart._

***

Darcy sat on the kitchen counter and nibbled on her fifth Oreo, her legs kicking against the kitchen cupboards.  She fanned the letter out over her lap, smoothing the crinkles in the rich paper stock.  The words were starting to blur together, she’d read them so many times.

_Your application to study abroad in Vienna over the Fall Semester of the following academic year has been accepted…_

That was all she needed to read to get her heart pumping.  She only applied for the abroad grant the semester before at Jane’s urging; Jane knew she was getting nervous about graduation and needed a post-grad goal before the long grad school haul.  It wasn’t like Darcy wasn’t interested—she always wanted to study in Europe, and a few girls in the poli-sci major went to Vienna the summer before and loved it.

But it was far away, it wasn’t Culver, and Jane wouldn’t be there.  She grabbed another Oreo and tossed the letter onto the counter.

“I’m home,” Jane called, sounding both haggard and chipper as usual.  “Can you help me with the door?  The grocery store had an awesome sale and I bought _so much food._ ”

“On it, boss,” Darcy said, shoving the letter into her purse.  “Did you get those breakfast-on-a-stick things?”

Jane rolled her eyes but tossed Darcy the box.  “They’ll give you a heart attack.  How am I supposed to explain that to your mom?”

“She’ll be expecting it at this point,” Darcy said, and grabbed a grocery bag from Jane, propping it on her hip.  “So, something happened.  Something sort of cool.” She thought about her cryptic talk with Dr. Rushman, how she was _totally_ into her, and even though Jane liked to maintain firm professor-student boundaries, she still indulged in Darcy’s exploits.

Jane plunked a bag onto the counter and grinned wildly.  “You got accepted.”

“What?” Darcy could feel her face burn—she was a good liar, but _not_ with Jane.  “Shut up.  Totally _not_ what I was going to say, party-pooper.”

“Oh my god,” Jane sighed, wrapping Darcy up in a tight hug, her flannel shirt warm and cozy.  “I’m so proud of you, this is awesome.  You’re going to _Vienna_!  To study politics!  _Foreign_ politics!”

“That’s not really—yeah, sure, I am,” Darcy said, mustering a weak smile, squeezing Jane even tighter.

Jane pulled away, keeping Darcy at arm’s length.  “You aren’t excited?”

“I’m excited, I’m just…” Darcy trailed off, eyeing the comfort Oreos.  “We’ve been a team.  You’re my best friend.  How am I supposed to live without you, nonetheless on another _continent_?” Jane was more than a best friend; they both knew that.  She was Darcy’s reality check, her closest confidant, her partner in crime.  They kept each other from making stupid decisions and encouraged the good ones.  Darcy didn’t know how to be an adult without her.

Jane smiled, rubbing Darcy’s arms.  “Do you think I’m not worried, too?  Who’s going to have two AM hot cocoa with me?  Who’s going to remind me to do my laundry, and wash the dishes, and sleep?” Darcy laughed.  Jane’s voice lowered, her eyes softening.  “Who’s the only one who doesn’t think I’m nuts?”

“Hey,” Darcy said, twining her fingers through Jane’s.  “You’re not nuts, and I’ll pound anyone who says so.  Or, at least get someone else to pound them.  I have weak wrists.”  Jane cracked a smile, even though she rubbed away tears with her sleeve.  “This is going to be hard.  But we’ll always be a team.  Right?”

Jane nodded.  “Right.  And also, if you turn down the grant, I’ll kick your ass.”  She thought for a moment.  “Or at least find someone else to kick your ass.”

***

“Feels good to be back,” Natasha said, reaching her hand out blindly to her left. 

A cold can of soda slapped into her palm.  “I never went anywhere.  This is my usual position, Nat.” Natasha heard Clint open his own soda can with his canine teeth, something that never failed to gross her out.  “In fact, this is sort of cozy.  No assassins, no theft, no drug trafficking rings.  Is this what college is like?”

“Wouldn’t know.”  They were perched on the sixteenth-floor balcony of an unoccupied apartment building, eyes trained on Lewis and Foster’s apartment three floors below across the street.  Lewis had been sitting on the counter in front of the kitchen window for half an hour eating a truly admirable amount of cookies, and Foster just arrived.  She hoped they’d finally get something out of them—something she couldn’t get face-to-face.  “It’s like they practically staged this so we could see them.  Wow.”

Clint nodded, relaxing in his plastic deck chair.  Even though Natasha could read lips as well as him, she appreciated the company and knew a little backup never hurt.  “Even if these two are involved in New Mexico, I have a feeling they’re not a threat.  Lewis is wearing bunny slippers, for chrissakes.”

“ _You_ own bunny slippers,” Natasha grumbled, eyes still trained on the women through the window.  They seemed solemn, but not upset, and affectionate with one another.  That type of affection usually only came with complete trust; it was the kind she had with Clint, the kind Clint had with Kate.  She sat up straighter, suddenly interested as she read _you’re the only one who doesn’t think I’m nuts_.  “Whoa, did you pick up on that?”

“Yeah,” Clint said.  “They have a secret.  Foster’s been involved in a lot of wacky shit, but she’s a brilliant scientist.  Nobody in the field would refute her research.  Unless…”

“She was involved in something unbelievable.” Natasha packed up her gear and slung her backpack over her shoulder. 

“You have to get in there.  She’s already hot for you, why not take advantage of it?” 

Natasha already regretted telling Clint about her private conversation with Lewis.  She whipped her head around, giving him an icy glare.  “She’s a college student, not a mafia boss, Clint.  I’m not going to take advantage of her.”

“That’s _not_ what I meant,” Clint said, raising his hands in protest.  “She’s interested in you.  You’re a professor, she’s a student, this is a college campus.  Get creative.”

Natasha sighed, taking one last glance at the apartment below, at the two women hugging each other.  “Brief Hill.  If I’m going to get creative, _you’re_ doing my paperwork.”

“Jerk,” Clint said without heat, stealing the rest of her soda.

 

Natasha couldn’t lie—she always got a thrill out of breaking in.  She never stole anything, never set traps or anything else like in the old days, she just liked being a damn snoop.  She was quick and quiet, sure on her feet, and it was a run-down college-town apartment—practically a goldmine for good intel.

 _“You in?”_ Clint said over her earpiece.  He was eating something crunchy.

“I could practically bust that lock with a toothpick,” she said dryly, closing the door gently behind her.  “I’ll start in the bedroom before I plant the evidence.”  She had her plan tucked into the belt of her jeans—a thick, bright white invitation to a department mixer for science-oriented students.  It was a legitimate event, but Lewis lived off campus and didn’t get regular invites to events.

And if Natasha doctored the line that said ‘free food’ onto the invite to make it stand out more, then the odds Darcy would go were just higher.

She checked Foster’s room first.  It was practically a prison cell—bare walls, grey and blue sheets crumpled at the foot of the bed, coffee mugs on the night table.  She went over the book shelf.  After heavy volumes of journals and research, there was a line of red hardcover journals, all labelled by month and year along the spine.  Natasha read them one by one.  “Foster keeps meticulous journals of her studies, but the only missing volume is from her time spent in New Mexico.  Either someone has been here before us, or she knows it’s dangerous to have around.”

 _“Check the box-spring,”_ Clint joked.

Natasha smirked and left the room, making her way down the narrow hallway to Lewis’.  The room was significantly brighter and _way_ messier.  The walls were covered in campaign posters and stickers, along with photographs of her and Foster and a few other faces Natasha didn’t recognize.  Clothes and books littered the floor along with food wrappers, shoes, DVD boxes, loose makeup and toiletries, and a box of condoms.  Natasha frowned at them.  “How are we for time?”

“Foster is due back in a few, but you’ll be fine in the building for at least five.  Find anything?”

“Nothing, but I just did a surface scan.  I’m pretty sure…” she paused, checking out the books on Darcy’s desk.  Two caught her eye—an encyclopedia of Norse mythology, and a Russian dictionary.  She swallowed hard.  “Nothing’s here.  I’m heading out.”

***

“I never got to tell you about my _other_ thing,” Darcy slurred, drink already half empty in her hand.  The neon pink liquid settled like toxic waste in her stomach but tasted like happiness, so she just kept sipping.  “The sexy thing.”

Jane giggled around her straw, cheeks already red.  She was a notorious lightweight.  “Am I going to regret hearing this?”

“Never,” Darcy said, voice lowering in the noisy bar as she leaned in closer to Jane.  It was a regular near-campus college bar, not gross and sloppy like the undergrad hang-outs closer to the dorms, but loud and happy and full of people excited and scared to go out into the world.  “She’s my professor.”

Jane’s eyes widened.  “Darcy, _not_ a good idea.  You only have a semester left!”

“Exactly,” Darcy laughed, sucking her drink dry to the ice.  “And I’m not hooking up with her _yet_.  She’s super strange and mysterious.  And _European_.”

Jane raised her eyebrows, obviously a little impressed.  “How do you know if she’s even interested?”

 _I don’t_ , Darcy wanted to say, _but anyone who looks at me like that wants_ something.  “Come on, Jane.  When have I ever had trouble getting a pretty guy or gal into the sack?  I’m a gorgeous female specimen, they flock to me.”  She winked at the sweaty dude at the end of the bar who was mustering up the courage to talk to her.  “On that note, let’s head home.  That _Batman: The Animated Series_ box-set is calling our names.”

“I love Harley Quinn,” Jane said dreamily, dropping a few bills on the sticky bar.  As they tumbled out of the dark space and onto the damp, low-lit streets for a cab, they didn’t see two figures watching them from the alleyway, not making a move but certainly planning one.

 

 _Free food, free drinks, and free networking, here I come_ , Darcy thought, tugging down her new soft, cream-colored dress so it covered more of her thighs, which she maybe didn’t shave high enough.  It had been forever since she even attempted to look like a real adult, but she was fairly confident her dress, nylons, simple earrings, and not-a-rat’s-nest hair would do the trick.  She needed a little confidence boost, anyways.

The mixer was being held in one of the big, old halls on campus Darcy rarely frequented.  It was one of those wings with plaques all over the place commemorating old professors and benefactors, and a chandelier swayed above the entryway floor.  _Way_ too fancy for undergrads, if Darcy had any say, but the fancier the décor, the nicer the hors d’oeuvres.  Darcy walked across the parquet floor carefullly on her simple black heels towards the coat check.

“Darcy,” Ian called from the outside of the grand double-door entrance, waving her over.  Soft piano music floated from the room and the smell of shrimp and garlic drifted out, calling Darcy with its savory wiles.

“Hey there, handsome,” she said, adjusting his crooked bowtie.  “Are we dates tonight?  Gonna mix together?”

Ian flushed as usual, but smiled at Darcy’s flirting.  “I have a feeling you’ll have eyes for someone else this time.”

A tiny thrill shot up Darcy’s spine and she straightened, looking around the room.  “For real?  Where?”  After her nasty hangover from her and Jane’s girls’ night and the ensuing frustration over her Russian studies classwork, Darcy had been trying to get Dr. Rushman out of her head—to no avail.

Ian nodded towards the balcony off to the left of the event room.  “She’s been out there all night.  Like she’s waiting for someone.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, but felt heat rise to her collar.  “Let’s mingle first.  I can’t look too desperate.”  Despite being a bit of a slacker, Darcy knew quite a few people from the department.  The professors were smart and upbeat, always ready to talk to students, and Darcy always knew just how to get on their good sides.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Professor Baker said, clapping Darcy on the shoulder.  She was on the committee for deciding who to grant for the Vienna semester.  “You were an obvious choice.  A bright girl like you needs to branch out more!”

Darcy mustered a smile and nodded, accepting the congrats, even though they left a stone in the pit of her stomach.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of red against the dark sky outside the balcony, and excused herself to make a beeline towards Dr. Rushman.

“Leaving so soon?” Darcy set her half-finished plate of food on the balcony ledge and took a step towards Dr. Rushman, who was almost off the balcony and back into the noisy party. 

Dr. Rushman looked up, eyes focused and unsurprised.  “I’m surprised you came, Miss Lewis.  You haven’t given me the impression you’re much of a joiner.”

“Maybe I’m taking our little talk to heart,” Darcy said, leaning against the balcony and doing her best not to let her eyes roll out onto the floor in response to Dr. Rushman’s outfit.  She was in some sort of illegally tight, sleek black velvet dress, the light making it shine against the curve of her hips, and had a red shawl tucked in the crooks of her arms.  A silver arrow necklace rested against her collarbone—Darcy wondered if she wore it all the time, and how she hadn’t noticed before.

Dr. Rushman smiled, eyebrow raised.  “Somehow I doubt it.  But I’m glad to see you here.”  She glanced back into the party, lips set in a grim line.  “I’m not much for large get-togethers, but I’m a new faculty member, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

“Hooray for new experiences, then,” Darcy said, and flagged a passing waiter who came by with a tray of champagne.  She took two flutes and passed one to Dr. Rushman (who looked like more of a wine type of woman).  “From one non-joiner to another.”

“I couldn’t help but overhear something,” Dr. Rushman said, taking a deep breath, “about a trip to Vienna.”

Darcy shrugged, taking a too-big sip of champagne.  “You have amazing hearing, then.”

“Touchy subject?” Dr. Rushman nudged a little closer to Darcy so their elbows almost grazed on the balcony railing.

“Not really.  I’ve always wanted to travel, get out there and see the world.  But I love my bed, and my books, and…my Jane.” She took another awkward sip of champagne.  “But you don’t need to hear about all of this.  I’m sure you know what it’s like to see the great big world.”

Dr. Rushman nodded, face solemn.  “Sometimes the world is best unseen.  Sometimes you don’t know how nice home is until you go back to it.”  Her voice took on a gentle, wistful tone, and Darcy looked up at her through a loose curl.  Dr. Rushman looked undeniably gorgeous in the moonlight, her lips plush red, her hair fiery, and Darcy wanted nothing more than to pull her in for a kiss, but she also looked _sad._ Far away.

“Dr. Rushman, I—“ Darcy started, but was cut off by a firm hand on her wrist from the inside of the event.

“Miss Lewis, come with me,” a man’s gruff voice said, yanking her _way_ too hard for her comfort, but before she could even protest, Dr. Rushman’s heel-clad foot flashed out and kicked the assailant’s wrist, landing with a sickening _crack_.

As the man howled in pain, Dr. Rushman looked up at Darcy, hair falling into her eyes, and she was suddenly something wild, someone new and dangerous—the real woman beneath those tortoiseshell glasses and button-up blouses.  “Run,” she growled.

For once in her life, Darcy did as she was told.

 ***

“Who the hell were they?” Natasha squirmed away from Pepper’s gentle touch, even though the cool cloth felt nice on the huge bruise welling up on her shoulder.  “And why didn’t I know about them until now?”

“Because _none_ of us knew about them,” Hill said, slapping a thick stack of files onto the low table in the briefing room—good thing Virginia had one of the best smaller SHIELD safe-houses in the Eastern US, and only a few miles from Culver.  “They’re a bunch of conspiracy theorists.”

“The files are pretty wild,” Pepper said, peeling a bandage off its wrapping and giving Natasha a pointed look before applying it to the cut under her eyes.  “I read them on the way over.  They don’t know the half of what Foster and Lewis experienced—they think some sort of all-knowing satellite fell into New Mexico to overtake us all.”

“Great, now we’ve got Mulder and Scully on our tail,” Hill grumbled, massaging her temples.  “The one who attacked her already snuck into their apartment and nabbed some journals and records, but we recovered it all.  The good thing is that we got Foster and Lewis to cooperate.”

Natasha looked up, wincing as her shoulder ached from the movement.  “Darcy’s here?  She’s safe?”

Hill glanced at Pepper, who laid a comforting hand on Natasha’s non-sore shoulder.  “She’s already being driven back home.  We gave her a choice—work with us full time, or surrender all of her documentation on the New Mexico incident and put it all behind her.”

Natasha exhaled, her fists clenching in the torn material of her tights.  She wasn’t ready to think about the fact that her mission with Darcy was technically completed—threat of exposure quashed, action taken to provide information, ultimatum given.  “What about Foster?”

Hill stifled a laugh.  “She’s practically claimed a lab all to herself in Stark Tower.  She’s been dying to work with Banner for years.”

“But she’ll only be flying there on weekends.  She wants to spend the rest of the semester with Lewis.”  Pepper rubbed Natasha’s arm before packing up the first-aid kit, a gentle gesture of support that Natasha appreciated.  Pepper always knew when there was no need for words.

“And now we have a pet project,” Hill said with a grin, packing up her files.  “Find out who the hell these weirdos after Lewis and Foster were, and find out what they know.  We’re handing it off to Barton and Bishop, though.  Bishop’s been dying to go undercover as—and I quote—‘something hella weird.’”

Natasha offered a weak smile, glad she wasn’t on the follow-up case.  “So I guess that’s that.”

After Hill left, Pepper sat down across from Natasha in the uncomfortable SHIELD-issued armchair.  “I explained it all to her when we picked her up down the street,” she said softly.  “Lewis is a smart woman.  She knew something was up.”

Natasha sighed, curling in on herself in her chair, that terrible feeling of wanting to be smaller.  “But she didn’t know I was spying on her.  She trusted me and I screwed her over.  As usual.”

“But you _didn’t_ ,” Pepper said, nudging Natasha’s knee with her own.  “You kept her safe.  That’s what we wanted to do, Natasha—keep these women safe from a world that would literally kill to know what they know.”

“Did she,” Natasha started, and cleared her throat.  “Did she say anything about me?  Ask you anything?”

Pepper looked down, her eyes soft.  “She asked for your real named.  Your first name.”

Natasha felt her heart lift a little, but only by a fraction.  “What else?”

“She said she didn’t want to see you before she left,” Pepper said, gentle and honest.  It was another thing Pepper did well—dealing the blows without making them hurt too bad.

“Well,” Natasha said, firmly keeping the waver out of her voice, “what’s next, then?”

***

_Six Months Later_

“Drunk sock puppet, I hardly knew ya,” Darcy said forlornly as she tossed one of her and Jane’s many intoxicated craft projects into the wastebasket.  She wanted to keep all of her best college mementos, but she knew she’d always have the memories—and the photographic evidence on Facebook. 

“Darcy, the car’s all packed.  Want to meet me at the restaurant after I drop it all off in storage?” Jane called up from downstairs.  Darcy shouted back in agreement.  They were all going out one last time with their parents before Jane moved permanently to Stark Tower and Darcy caught her flight to Vienna.

The bare apartment walls matched Darcy’s mood—a little numb, a little sad, but ultimately full of hope.  Her year hadn’t exactly panned out as planned—one can never really plan to be stalked by crazy conspiracy theorists and propositioned by a super-secret government agency—but she was happy with where she was going and what she’d be doing.

Vienna would be good for her.  She knew it all along, but she finally accepted it.

As she packed her last box, a sudden wave of warm, exotic perfume filled the room, and she bit back a grin.  “If you’re going to sneak around, you really need to change perfumes.”

“Busted,” a low voice said from the doorway, and Darcy turned around to see Dr. Rushman—er, Natasha—leaning against the door frame, looking exactly how Darcy had been picturing her in the past few months.  Her hair was longer and smoother, her clothes more casual, but it was her, sly look and all. 

Darcy crossed her arms over her chest.  “Pretty bold, coming back here.  I thought spies never got close to their targets.”

Natasha sighed and sat down on the edge of Darcy’s bed.  “I’m an agent, not a spy.  And you were never a target.  I’d never put you in danger.”

Darcy shrugged, trying to no break her resolve.  “Yeah, okay.  Miss Potts told me all about your valiant heroism.  But I was still pretty pissed.  I wasn’t ready to see you after, you know…”

Natasha nodded.  “I know.  I get it.” But her voice was tight.

“I’m going to Vienna,” Darcy said, “but you probably already knew that.”

“I made an educated guess,” Natasha said, gesturing towards Darcy’s passport on her desk.  “I check with Agent Hill now and then to make sure you’re doing okay, but other than that, I don’t keep tabs on you.  I don’t—“ she paused, searching for the right word, “I don’t want to push you away.  Again.”

“I kind of pushed myself away,” Darcy said, sitting down next to Natasha and tucking her leg beneath her body.  “I knew I didn’t need to be a part of something like SHIELD.  They offered me a job after I come home, but I said no.  I need to see the world first.”  She nudged Natasha gently.  “Even the parts best left unseen.”

“You’re brave,” Natasha said softly, and reached over to twine her fingers through Darcy’s.  “I’ve spent a lot of my life getting close to people, but never like I wanted to get close to you.”

Even though Darcy’s heart skyrocketed into her throat, she squeezed back eagerly.  “If you’ll be honest with me from now on, I wouldn’t mind getting close to you, either.”

Natasha closed her eyes and smiled.  “Can I kiss you?”

“Hell yeah,” Darcy said, and leaned in, kissing Natasha with more emotion and want than she ever felt for Dr. Rushman.

“You know,” Natasha said, lips still grazing Darcy’s as she pulled away, “there’s an assignment open in Vienna for me.  What do you think?”

Darcy grinned.  “I think,” she said, cupping Natasha’s cheek and pulling her in closer, “we’re going to have an interesting year.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Foster the People's "Helena Beat."


End file.
